


Medicine

by sebacielfantasies



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post Reconciliation, Post-Canon, SaruMi - Freeform, Tooth Rotting Fluff, they're living together again in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 06:49:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6413305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebacielfantasies/pseuds/sebacielfantasies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saru is sick, but it's okay, since these days he's got a boyfriend to look after him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Medicine

The blankets, Saruhiko thinks sleepily, are way too stuffy.

He kicks them off, towards the end of the bed, but he still feels sluggish and sweaty, so maybe the blankets weren't the problem after all. He hesitates, then pulls them back up to his chin.

"Saruhiko! I'm home," his boyfriend is noisy, barging into the apartment they both share about as quietly as an elephant. Misaki's cheeks are flushed from the wind but his smile is warm as ever. He waves the plastic bag clenched in his fist. "I got the ice cream like you asked, and medicine—"

In one swoop, Saruhiko tugs the blankets over his own head. "Too noisy," he complains. "You're giving me a headache."

"Ah, shaddup, will ya? Here I am, helping your sick ass, and all you can do is complain? Sheesh, you haven't changed one bit."

Footsteps, and then Misaki's there, pulling the blankets off the blue clansman. Vulnerable now to the cold seeping into their drafty apartment, Saruhiko shivers.

"Hey, give those back—"

"Quit overreacting," says Misaki, "I'm just changing 'em for fresh ones. These," he shakes them out with a disgusted look, "are all sweaty."

Saruhiko clicks his tongue, annoyed and still shivering. "What a caretaker you are, Mi-sa-ki."

"Oi, what is that supposed to mean? I can do a hell of a lot better than _you_ can!" After rifling through their one dresser for more blankets, Misaki yanks a few out and throws them at Saruhiko, who immediately wraps himself up.

For once (maybe even the first time in history), Saruhiko's not in the mood for arguing with him. His voice feels too hoarse, his throat too scratchy, his body too tired. So he just burrows himself into the blankets and closes his eyes, silent save for his uneven breathing.

Even his breaths go silent, though, when he feels a palm press to his forehead.

"You look terrible," the voice is worried, just a little. Misaki's fingers are warm on his skin. "And I think your fever's gone up, too."

Saruhiko doesn't reply for a moment; his heart is beating a tad too much in his chest and he needs to collect himself—which doesn't make sense, really, because they touch each other every day, kiss until they're both breathless, so why does such a small gesture affect him so badly?

"Your hand," he says finally, in as detached a voice as he's able. "It's warm. Really warm. Why is that?"

"W-What?" Misaki leaps away as if dodging one of Saruhiko's knives, the red in his cheeks even more prominent. "I—I don't know what you're talking about! You're the one running a fever, stupid!"

Saruhiko's eyes sharpen into a suspicious look, but he says nothing else.

"A-Anyway," Misaki says, clearing his throat, "I'm gonna put the groceries away—you want anything?"

"Grape juice," he mumbles into the comforter, "the mild kind. And zero percent fruit."

"This," Misaki's voice is as disapproving as the scowl on his face, "is why you get sick so often, y'know. Your diet is terrible."

Saruhiko doesn't respond, because he knows Misaki will still get it for him regardless. And, minutes later, he hides his triumphant smirk in the pillows as Misaki sets the glass of juice on the table, mild and fruit-free, just as requested.

A smirk that fades, however, once he sits up and takes a couple of sips. A bout of dizziness waves over him, and a nasty taste rises up his throat. _Shit._

"Saru?" Misaki must've caught Saruhiko's alarmed look, because he yells something ("Hey, Saru! What's wrong?! Are you okay?!"), but it goes in one ear and out the other. Something in his stomach twists.

"Fuck, I'm—"

He can't even finish; the bile in his mouth hits his tongue and _god what is he still doing here._ In a flash he's up, stumbling over his own feet to the bathroom with a hand slapped over his mouth.

By sheer luck he makes it to the bathroom, and by sheer luck Misaki doesn't follow him (probably because Saruhiko slammed the door in his face). He falls to the floor, bends over the toilet, and retches as what little food in his stomach is brought back up.

When he finishes, dry heaving over the seat with shaky elbows propping him up, he wipes a hand across his mouth, and the leftover taste in his mouth is so disgusting he can hardly stand it. "Ugh," he says to himself, eyebrows drawn into a repulsed look. "Gross . . ."

"Uh. Saru?" A knock on the door, an awkward cough. "You okay in there?"

"I'm fi—" But then his stomach twists one more time, and he has no choice but to turn towards the toilet again, which is annoying because his stomach already feels empty and what more could he possibly have to throw up.

When he finishes—hopefully for good, this time—there's a presence beside him that wasn't there before. When he got in here Saruhiko hasn't a clue, but Misaki's somehow ended up crouched beside him, towel in hand.

Saruhiko snatches the towel without meeting the other's gaze. "What are you doing here," he says, flatly. "You were supposed to stay out, idiot! Or was me slamming the door in your face not clear enough?"

Misaki ignores the bite in Saruhiko's tone. "You're sick, idiot Monkey, it's not like you can help it. What, did you think I was gonna make fun of you or something?"

Saruhiko shrugs. "Who wouldn't?"

"W-Whatever!" Fuming, Misaki crosses his arms and looks away. "I—I wouldn't do that, okay? So don't go assuming stupid things."

Assuming things is what led to the eventual wedge that formed between them years ago, they both know, and neither are eager to go down that path again. So Saruhiko coughs, drags the towel across his lips for what feels like the hundredth time, and stands up to rinse and brush his mouth, thoroughly. When he's done, he keeps his eyes focused on the sink, all too aware of Misaki's warmth somewhere behind him.

"Thanks," he mutters, low and quiet. "For ah, you know."

Misaki grins. "No problem. That's what," here he blushes slightly, on reflex, "that's what boyfriends are for, right?"

Saruhiko feels an uncomfortable heat warm his cheeks, and he's suddenly grateful he has the fever to use as an excuse. ". . . Right."

It's only when Saruhiko's returned to his nest of blankets, with Misaki sprawled out on the floor beside him, that he realizes Misaki's cheeks are still a bright, bright red.

He leans over to poke the vanguard's cheek. "Mi-sa-kiii, you—" he has to stop for a moment, to cough— "you haven't been lying to me, have you?"

"E-Eh?! What—What are you talking about?" He laughs, nervously. "What would I even have to lie about?"

"You honestly think I haven't noticed?"

"There's nothing to notice! I'm fine—"

Saruhiko clicks his tongue, "I never said that you weren't fine, Misaki."

Caught red-handed, Misaki's honey eyes widen, and he shakes his head, "I'm not—" Then his words turn into a loud sneeze, and Saruhiko's suspicions are confirmed.

"You're sick too, aren't you."

"N-No, I'm just feeling a tad under the weather, that's all—" But Misaki's feverish skin and sneezing show otherwise, and guilt pinches Saruhiko's chest as it sinks in.

"You," he says, and he gives Misaki a disbelieving look. "You've been taking care of me all day, and you've been sick this whole time."

"Er . . . Maybe? But!" Misaki says quickly, when Saruhiko's eyes narrow, "But, I'm not as sick as you, so! I'm okay, really!"

With effort, Saruhiko detaches himself from the warm blankets and stands up, before pointing to the bed. "Sit."

"What? No," Misaki shakes his head stubbornly. "You're sicker than me, so the bed is yours, dammit!"

"Shall I drag Misaki to the bed, then?" He sighs; he's too sick for this, really. "Looks like you've given me no other choice."

Then, ignoring Misaki's vehement protests, Saruhiko lifts the vanguard off the floor and over his shoulder, and wow, has he always been this _heavy?_

"Oi, let go! Let go of me, asshole!" Misaki punches his back, but his energy's been sapped by his cold. Unfortunately, Saruhiko's has been too, so it takes effort to remain standing. "Let go already!"

And let go he does, Saruhiko thinks with a smirk as he drops Misaki unceremoniously onto the bed. With a surprised "Hmph!" Misaki rolls onto the covers, then peers over his shoulder to glower at the other.

"You should be in bed, Saruhiko, what the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

"I don't know," he says, honestly, because he's never taken care of someone before, there's never been someone to take care of and he doesn't know what to do. "What do you want?"

Thinking about it, Saruhiko realizes he actually doesn't know how to cook like Misaki does, and he's not sure how to cool down a fever, either. His lips tilt into a frown.

"What do I want?" Teeth gritted into a snarl, Misaki outstretches a hand to curl around Saruhiko's wrist. "I want you resting, didn't I already make that clear?!"

Saruhiko's too tired to stop Misaki from yanking him back into the covers. The blankets cushion his fall, muffle his minimal grumblings at being pulled over so easily. When he raises his head off the pillows, though, he stops, and maybe, just maybe, his breath stalls. Misaki's eyes are on him, glassy with fever and _have they always been this big?_

"Saruhiko?" says Misaki, but Saruhiko doesn't hear it; he sees it instead, sees Misaki's lips move to form his name. It's not an unpleasant sight.

"Oi, Saruhiko, you even listening to me? Are you okay? You're just staring at me . . . It's getting creepy. Hold on, lemme go grab that medicine—"

Saruhiko shuts him up with a kiss, one that leaves them both out of breath in mere moments—one of the many disadvantages of being sick.

But, as Misaki points out, there's some advantages, too. "You know what both of us being sick means, Saru?"

Saruhiko raises an eyebrow.

"We don't have to worry about catching the other's sickness, since we both have the same thing." Misaki smiles sheepishly, scratches at the back of his neck. "And, um, if we don't have to worry about that, well, uh—"

"Then we have all day to do this," Saruhiko finishes, and he brings their lips back together, again and again and again, until their cheeks are flushed with fever and they're both coughing and spluttering from lack of air.

But that's okay, because—though he's most likely just delirious at this point—whenever Saruhiko looks at Misaki's weary smile, he can't help but think it's the only medicine he'll ever need.

**Author's Note:**

> \- I don't own {K} or any of its characters.  
> \- Kinda just a drabble I wrote at 1 am because I've never wrote a fluffy sick fic and I felt it was time, haha.  
> \- Unbeta-ed  
> \- Hope you enjoyed it!


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